


Teeth

by Occasus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Biting, Blood, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29395671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occasus/pseuds/Occasus
Summary: Pain reminded Reiner that he was alive, when so many others were not. All those he had failed, who could no longer feel anything at all. Reiner didn’t feel much anymore, but he felt pain. And he deserved every burst of it that Galliard was all-too-willing to give. Galliard, who was angry. Always angry. Pent up and bitter and violent. Every time he looked at Reiner, his hazel eyes readfuck you.He was all teeth and fists and fury, the overfull to Reiner’s hollow. Reiner who was as empty as the bottles that littered Galliard’s room. Carved-out and cold. Numb. But pain was bright white and intense, it quickened his heart and kicked adrenaline into his sluggish veins. Pain he understood.
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Porco Galliard
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	Teeth

Pain starbursts bright and sharp, rattling his molars in his jaw and ringing through his skull. Reiner’s back hits the sand hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The night spins in a nauseating whorl of velvet and silver. He is momentarily deaf, all sound replaced with the buzz of impact. His chest burns for oxygen, and he contemplates how long it would take to black out if he denied the biological urge to inhale. 

“Get up.” 

Galliard kicks sand into his eyes. The sting of it shreds Reiner’s masochistic focus—his lungs expand and spasm, leaving him sputtering and gasping on his back with his opponent looming over him. 

“Again,” Galliard says. He flexes the hand that collided with Reiner’s face, knuckles creaking in their leather wraps. He sniffs and wipes at his nose, smearing blood across his upper lip. 

“Give me a minute.” Reiner closes his eyes. There’s grit in his lashes. He focuses on the burn, the fading drone in his head, willing the world to stop spinning. They have all the time in the world, after all. It was late, anyone with common sense had long since settled down to sleep. Only the two of them stood in the empty sandlot of the training grounds. A ritual that had become routine. 

There was no point—except the release it offered. Pain reminded Reiner that he was alive, when so many others were not. All those he had failed, who could no longer feel anything at all. Reiner didn’t feel much anymore, but he felt pain. And he deserved every burst of it that Galliard was all-too-willing to give. Galliard, who was angry. Always angry. Pent up and bitter and violent. Every time he looked at Reiner, his hazel eyes read _fuck you._ He was all teeth and fists and fury, the overfull to Reiner’s hollow. Reiner who was as empty as the bottles that littered Galliard’s room. Carved-out and cold. Numb. But pain was bright white and intense, it quickened his heart and kicked adrenaline into his sluggish veins. Pain he understood. 

Reiner pushes himself upright with a grunt, hauling to his feet. The sandlot tips on its axis, Galliard’s bronze hair a shock of color in the dark. He straightens and the stars become stationary once more, the ringing in his ears fading away. Standing, he is a head taller than Galliard, but it means nothing. Galliard is faster, meaner, _angrier._ He barely gives Reiner time to balance and settle back into a defensive stance before he balls his freckled fist and _swings._

Reiner side-steps and the punch whistles past his ear. He ducks and dodges a ferocious hook from the opposite direction. Galliard snarls like an animal and shifts, his compact frame dropping quickly to sweep Reiner’s feet out from under him. He doesn’t realize it’s happened until he is sprawled on the ground again, a marionette with the strings cut, blinking up at the night for a second time. 

“You could at least fucking try.” Galliard spits into the sand next to him. 

Reiner gets up again because he _wants_ to be knocked down, wants to feel the impact of the blows ringing into his bones. He has earned every defeat. It’s the only apology he has to offer to Galliard, who has lost so much. They were the same in that regard, two survivors left standing in the aftermath. There were no words that could possibly express the remorse Reiner felt. The anguish that ripped his wounds open fresh and raw every time someone spoke the names. 

Annie. 

Bertholdt. 

_Marcel._

Reiner’s failures had faces. They haunted his dreams, clawed at the fraying edges of his mind. It should have never been him. He should have been the one left behind, the weakest link. He understands that now.

For all the ire in his eyes, Galliard could never hate Reiner as much as he hates himself. 

He moves first this time, jabbing with cracked knuckles. Galliard avoids him easily, moving fluid and sure, retaliating with a brutal swing. Reiner manages to catch his fist, the solid sounds of flesh and bone colliding as his fingers curl over the leather-bound knuckles of a hand half the size of his own. Perhaps he is stronger than Galliard, could give him a run for his money if he wanted, but he doesn’t care. This depraved dance they have fallen into sates a hunger for them both. 

“You gonna hit me?” Galliard sneers. His teeth are white and sharp in the moonlight. “C’mon.” 

Reiner wants to. He wants to break his grin. 

Galliard doesn’t give him the opportunity. He jerks out of his grasp, leaping to the side and turning his shoulder before he charges. He throws his full weight into Reiner, sending them both crashing to the sand. Reiner hears the rush of his own breath leaving his lungs, punched out of him by the impact. His skull slams into the ground with enough force to black his vision. When it clears, he finds himself staring up into twin embers. Galliard straddles him, pinning his arms at his sides. 

“You’ve lost your touch.” 

Reiner doesn’t argue. It’s true. He is perpetually exhausted, the kind of tired no amount of fitful, nightmare-plagued sleep could satisfy. Grief and guilt grow heavier with time like stones being stacked, the pressure building and threatening to crush him to dust. He feels ancient. 

Galliard glares at him like he’s waiting for him to fight back, to struggle against his grasp. Reiner doesn’t. He stares calmly back. “Are we done here?” 

“Already? I don’t understand you,” Galliard mutters. He releases Reiner’s arms and sits back against his lap. His weight is warm and solid and grounding. 

Reiner flexes his hands and digs his fingers into the cool sand. He licks his dry lips.

“Hit me.” 

Galliard’s eyes widen for the span of a heartbeat, then his narrow brows slam low and he grits his teeth. 

The force of the blow is enough to kick Reiner’s chin up. Pain splits brilliant and razor sharp, blooming on the underside of his jaw. Then again, across his nose, blood spurting hot and wet. Galliard hits him again, harder. His lip splits against his teeth, and he tastes iron. He gasps, expelling steam like a locomotive, and Galliard’s knuckles slam into his cheekbone with an audible snap. Reiner’s vision flickers. For a second, the world goes blissfully dark and silent. Then Galliard’s fist is bunching in the front of his shirt, hauling him up until they are nose-to-nose, so close Reiner smells the hint of alcohol on his heated breath. 

“I can’t fucking stand you.” 

Galliard crashes into Reiner, and he is all teeth. He thrusts his tongue into his mouth, sweeping over his busted lip, tasting him. Reiner makes a shameless sound, instantly starved. Galliard kisses like he does everything—angrily, violently. They are both panting when he pulls away, Galliard inhaling the steam that comes from Reiner’s ruined mouth so it curls out of his nostrils like smoke when he sighs. He releases Reiner’s shirt, letting his head thump back to the sand, and Reiner can’t tear his eyes away from the blood on his mouth, smeared across his lips and chin. 

The air between them is charged. Electric. Galliard leans forward, shifting his weight and wrapping his fingers loosely around Reiner’s throat. Reiner’s body responds immediately, adrenaline and arousal mixing into a powerful cocktail that roars through his veins like gasoline. 

Galliard scoffs, his fingers tightening. His thumb slots into the soft spot beneath Reiner’s jaw where his pulse beats jackrabbit-fast. 

“Pervert.” 

Reiner opens his mouth to bite back, but Galliard rolls his pelvis in the same instant, and the only sound that escapes is a staggered wheeze. Galliard repeats the motion, grinding his ass down against the unmistakable ridge of Reiner’s cock, and the warm pressure of his body is sweet agony in contrast with the throbbing in his face, his mouth. 

“Galli—”

The hand around his throat squeezes, compromising his airway and cutting him off. 

“Don’t.” Galliard hisses through bloodstained teeth, rolling his hips again, making Reiner’s vision white for an entirely different reason. 

It’s not the first time they’ve been down this road. The two of them were incendiary. It was never _if,_ it was always _when._ Rough and depraved under the cover of darkness. Muffled behind closed doors. Reiner gives, surrenders. Galliard takes, devours. 

Reiner swallows past the pressure of the fingers and watches. There’s a sheen of sweat on Galliard’s brow, shining in the dip of his collarbone. A lock of hair has come loose, falling into his eyes as he rocks their bodies together. Reiner’s hands come up, tentatively gripping his hips to hold him in place and guide him. Galliard’s gaze flicks to his face, and his eyes are dark and fervent, pupils swallowing the copper of his iris. He moves faster, dragging himself back and forth, making Reiner’s heartbeat throb between his legs. 

He wants to say something, but the hand at his throat is a threat and a promise. Instead, he groans, thinking he will combust and burn them both to ash and ether. 

Galliard tosses his head and swears, his thighs shaking, a smear of Reiner’s blood shining bright red against the pale column of his neck. He lets go of Reiner, hands moving. The jingle of his belt buckle is startling in the quiet, then Galliard is pulling at Reiner’s clothes, rucking his shirt up his stomach, tearing at the buttons of his pants to get at the warm skin beneath. He spits into his palm, takes them both in hand, and starts to move with purpose. 

Reiner sucks in a sharp breath as his world narrows to the drag of Galliard’s cock against his own. His back arches off the sand, pushing against Galliard, into the tight ring of his fist. He groans, too loud in the silence of the night, and the fingers lace around his throat once more, quieting him with sudden pressure to his lifeblood. 

Galliard hums through his teeth, a sound like a purr vibrating in his chest. Reiner wishes he could feel it, wants to put his hand to the place where Galliard’s heart beats vital and alive and _almost human._ He hates that Galliard is all he has left, the only face that doesn’t haunt his dreams. Hates that all of Galliard’s anger is just a mask to hide the yawning chasm of his sadness. They were more alike than he was willing to admit. Broken, twisted things with hard lines and sharp edges, who tore at each other with claws and teeth and rutted into the sand like animals. 

Galliard comes with a strangled sound, striping hot as blood over the flat plane of Reiner’s stomach, curled over him and shaking. His fist tightens around Reiner’s throat hard enough to bruise, nails digging into his skin as bright pinpricks of pain. He squeezes until Reiner feels it buzzing in the back of his nose, building pressure in his head, burning in his lungs deprived of breath. His vision vignettes, and everything grinds to a halt. He is weightless, like smoke on the wind. 

Tighter. Darker. 

Galliard peels his hand away without warning, and Reiner gasps a great lungful of air. The night comes into sudden, sharp focus and he shatters, pleasure exploding behind his eyes like lightning and consuming him. He comes in Galliard’s hand, spilling across his wrapped knuckles and dripping down his wrist. 

He is still trying to catch his breath when Galliard swears and wipes his hand on Reiner’s shirt, pushing himself to his feet. He looks down at him as if contemplating stepping on an insect. Disgusted and irritated. His disheveled hair clings to his forehead. There’s still blood on his face. 

“Quit looking at me like that.”

Reiner licks his swollen mouth. A kaleidoscope of bruises seep into his skin like an oil spill, from his eye sockets to his clavicles in the shape of knuckles and fingerprints and canine teeth. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m an answer to your problems.” Galliard shoves his hands into his pockets and stalks off toward the barracks, leaving Reiner shivering and bleeding in the sandlot. 

Reiner watches his silhouette until it disappears into the shadows. He thinks of the innumerable sins he must atone for, knowing Galliard is exactly what he deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at this pairing, written for Gallirei Week '21
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it by leaving kudos or a comment.
> 
> Find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/occasusH).


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